Betrayal Read Free Page A

sighted from the deck. When should Kydd throw off his disguise? It couldn’t last for ever – but just as soon as he did so his quarry would instantly shy off. Or not – it might be a heavy frigate, eighteen-pounders against
L’Aurore
’s twelves, determined to crush him to preserve the secret of his squadron in the offing . . .
    ‘Post your men, Mr Oakley,’ Kydd ordered quietly. There was no way he could clear for action until the rat’s nest of improvised sails and rigging had been dismantled and that had better be quick.
    ‘Damn – he’s been spooked!’ spluttered Gilbey, the first lieutenant, shading his eyes against the fierce glare of sunlight on the sea.
    Kydd balled his fists in frustration: the masts were separating to show the frigate turning away. ‘Get us round!’ he roared. A second sea-anchor was hurled over the opposite stern-quarters and hauled on sharply, the bows being bodily rotated to maintain
L’Aurore
’s bowsprit on the other ship – but things were happening so slowly.
    A few minutes later Kendall caught Kydd’s eye. ‘Sir, I do not think he’s running. Doesn’t he desire to keep a’tween us and the land – an’ at the same time catch a land breeze?’
    Kydd nodded. ‘He thinks to prevent our escape to the shallows inshore? Not bad – but he doesn’t know who we are or he wouldn’t dare.’
    The ship was in plain view now, heeling more to the fluky north-easterly, seeking to take a commanding situation closer to the land. How much longer could he— A warning slap of impatient canvas above answered the question, but Kydd was becoming uneasy: something about the French ship was odd.
    ‘Be buggered!’ Oakley burst out suddenly. ‘That’s no mongseer frigate! It’s some sort o’ ship-sloop, one o’ them corvettes.’
    So keyed up had they been to expect a frigate that, at a distance, they had taken the corvette, a ship-rigged sloop much favoured by the French, as one. In appearance it was near to a miniature frigate, with a single gun-deck, all the sail plan and rigging identical – but much smaller. And, of course, to humble fisher-folk such a ship would appear enormous.
    Now the tables were now well and truly turned.
    The corvette’s helm was put hard over. ‘Get us under sail – now!’ roared Kydd. The crazy rag-tag rigging was cast off, false sails cascading over the deck in a chaotic jumble to be frantically scooped clear while the topmen raced out on the yards to loose their real canvas.
    The shock of recognition could almost be felt over the distance, and in minutes the corvette slewed sharply and set off inshore in an attempt to shake off the bigger ship in the shallows.
    ‘Move y’selves!’ Kydd bellowed up into the tops. He had no wish at all to try conclusions among the maze of shoals offshore, for the corvette was now heading towards the land under a press of sail that suggested confidence born of sound local knowledge.
    ‘You’re going after him?’
    He hadn’t noticed Renzi come up from below.
    ‘Of course! This is your foxy Maréchal, properly keeps his frigates with his squadron and sends out squiddy ship-sloops or similar. Can’t be better – we can always out-sail and out-gun the villain. I’m to take him and I’ve a notion this captain has a tale to tell.’
    ‘That seems a reasonable supposition, old fellow. And if you—’
    ‘Get those men off the yard!’ bawled Kydd, in exasperation. The corvette was now well in with the land, nearly lost against the contrasting vegetation and sand-hills. Until the men were off the spar the yard could not be braced round to catch the wind, but the furl had been as tight as possible to escape detection and two sailors were still scrabbling to cast off gaskets.
    They finished, and crabbed frantically along the footrope inward to the top. ‘Brace up roundly!’ Kydd roared instantly, and the men threw themselves into it with a will, jerking the yard around to catch the wind, but the last one off